The Skeptics
by MagicSwede1965
Summary: A young girl asks Roarke to make her parents believe in the unbelievable.  Follows 'Christmas Cards'.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: _Welcome to 2011! I thought I'd kick off the new year with a bit of lighthearted whimsy, as well as throwing out the disclaimer that I figure needs to be repeated periodically:_ Fantasy Island _and the characters of Roarke, Tattoo and Julie are the creations of Aaron Spelling, Leonard Goldberg and Gene Levitt, and owned by Sony. All other characters are entirely of my own creation, except where I've posted AU adaptations of actual series episodes. Now with that out of the way…enjoy!

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§ § § - January 4, 2007

A little past one o'clock on the first Thursday afternoon of the new year, Leslie went to the plane dock to meet what Roarke had called "a special guest". He'd had just enough of a twinkle in his eye when he said that that she was mildly suspicious, but that wasn't nearly enough to prepare her for the pretty dark-haired woman she saw coming down the landing ramp from the plane's hatch.

"Paloma Esperanza?" she exclaimed in astonishment, staring wide-eyed at the actress from her favorite television show, _King's Castle_. "Welcome back!"

Paloma returned her grin and shook hands. "Hello, Mrs. Enstad, thank you!"

"Just call me Leslie," she said immediately, ushering Paloma over to the waiting jeep. "What brings you back to the island?"

"I just need a vacation," Paloma admitted. "Since _King's Castle_ began coming out and especially since my book, I've been doing tours of bookstores all over the US, and as often as not I wind up signing copies of everyone's DVD collections of the series as well as my book." They both laughed as they climbed into the jeep, waiting for the attendants to stash Paloma's luggage in the back. "It's been pretty rough living on the road for as long as I have, but when I got back home I realized that wasn't going to be enough for me. So I e-mailed Mr. Roarke and asked him if he could spare accommodations for about a month. He was very gracious and set aside a bungalow for my use till the end of the month or so, and told me to feel free to make use of all the amenities I wanted to. So I'm definitely planning to enjoy myself."

"Well, this is the place to do it," Leslie said, glancing into the rearview mirror and ascertaining that Paloma's luggage was there. She put the jeep in gear and headed onto the Ring Road. "I'm presuming you'd like to rest for a while before you get started doing all that enjoying."

Paloma laughed and nodded. "Definitely. I'll probably settle down and order something from room service, and check my e-mail, and then maybe get into my swimsuit and go sit on the beach. I imagine Howie and Damian'll be expecting me to drop by, but I'm not even going to tell them I'm here till at least tomorrow. That should help me fully recover from all that flying. Not just the flight from L.A. to Honolulu, but all the others I've been doing across country for so long now."

"They're not going anywhere," Leslie agreed, chuckling. "Well, just make yourself at home then, and if you have any questions or need anything, just dial 001 for the main house. Either Father or I will be there, and if we're not, just leave a message."

"Terrific—thanks, Leslie," Paloma said, resettling herself in her seat and smiling. "This is going to be _so_ nice. My publisher all but threw a fit when I told him I needed some time off. He said I shouldn't do this now when I've still got such a momentum going, between book sales and the series DVDs, but I said either the momentum died or I did, and which looked to him like the lesser evil? So he finally caved in."

"I love it," Leslie exclaimed, laughing with her. "That's what I call telling it like it is. Okay, well, here we are." She stopped in front of one of the smaller, one-bedroom bungalows and handed Paloma a key before slipping out and lifting the suitcases from the back. Paloma immediately took one from her and pointed a finger at her when she opened her mouth.

"Don't even start. Just because you're my host, that doesn't mean you should be doing all the heavy lifting." She grinned and pretended to be unable to hoist the bag she was carrying. "I don't pack light."

"I surrender," Leslie said with a laugh. "Just follow me." She led Paloma to the door and pushed open the bungalow door, allowing the actress to precede her inside.

Paloma glanced around and smiled broadly. "It's perfect," she said, and then surveyed Leslie. "Y'know, last time I saw you, you were pregnant. How do you like being a mom?"

"I love it," Leslie said, delighted that Paloma had asked. "It's crazy and hectic sometimes, but you have to expect that with triplets. And now that they can feed themselves and they're all three progressing through toilet training, it's beginning to get a little easier."

Paloma gave an exaggerated shudder. "Ugh, toilet training. I can only try to imagine what _that_ must be like. I hope you're not having too much trouble."

Leslie grinned. "Tobias has the biggest problem with it, I think. He loves to play outside, and he can't stand having to stop long enough to come in and use the bathroom, so he's the furthest behind. Karina, on the other hand, is already using training pants. She's our studious one, our little perfectionist, I think. When she sets out to do something, she wants to really succeed at it. And since her brother and sister are both louder and more extroverted than she is, I think she figures that's her way of standing out."

"Smart girl, finding her niche and fitting right in," Paloma said, grinning in approval. "And how's Prince Christian?"

"Busy," Leslie said. "Not quite so much—he works only three or four days a week now and tries to spend more time with the kids. But he's almost always in his office on the weekends when I'm working. Which reminds me…I noticed that laptop you're carrying. If it needs any service at all, Christian and his employees'll do it for you."

"Who knows, I may have reason to go in," Paloma said. "Well, then, I guess that's all for now. Thanks so much, Leslie."

"Don't forget to call if you need anything," Leslie said, and on that note she left Paloma alone and headed back for the main house, where she and Roarke were watching the triplets today. Ingrid had unexpectedly requested the day off, which might not have been so unusual had Christian not recalled that the day before, Jonathan had asked for the very same day off. They had talked about it a little that morning, in low voices, before Ingrid had come in from her room and they'd all gotten ready to leave.

"How're you guys doing?" Leslie asked her children as she stepped into the office from the inner foyer. Karina looked up from a toddler's picture book and beamed at her mother; but Leslie could see immediately that Susanna and Tobias weren't quite so well off. Tobias had imprisoned one of Susanna's dolls and was energetically running over and over it with his largest toy truck, and Susanna was spitting mad. Roarke was standing behind his granddaughter, trying to keep her from attacking her brother, who seemed gleefully oblivious to what was going on.

"Mommy, wook!" Susanna wailed, pointing at Tobias now.

"It just happened," Roarke said with an amused glance at his daughter.

"I guess so," Leslie agreed with a wry grin, and promptly went to Tobias and removed the truck from her son's hands. When Tobias let out a howl of protest, she leveled a stern look at him. "First you give back Susanna's doll, and then you can have the truck back."

Tobias crossed his chubby arms over his chest and stuck out his lower lip in a stubborn pout, and Leslie shrugged lightly and straightened up with the truck. "No truck unless you give Susanna her doll." He only glared at his sister, and Leslie turned to Roarke. "Well, while he's thinking it over, how were they up till I walked in?"

"Just fine," Roarke said, just as Susanna took the opportunity and snatched her doll away from her brother, who instantly screamed. Roarke winced and shook his head. "You have quite a sense of timing."

"Lucky me," Leslie agreed. Meantime Susanna stuck out her tongue at Tobias and ran out to the flagstone terrace with her rescued doll, while Tobias jumped to his feet and began to stretch for the truck Leslie still held. "Sorry about that, Father. I wish there'd been another alternative, but with school back in session and Ingrid asking for the day off…"

"Indeed," her father said and chuckled. "No real harm done; you know I enjoy having my grandchildren around, whether they're behaving or not. Has our special guest arrived safely and been settled in?"

Leslie grinned. "Yes, she's here, and very pleased with her bungalow. For that matter, I've never yet seen a guest who hasn't fallen in love with the accommodations—except maybe the late Russell St. Anthony."

"I try to maintain a good track record," Roarke said lightly. "Very well, then, if you like, you might make the usual rounds for the afternoon. Perhaps, if you were so inclined, you could even take someone along with you."

"Aw, but they seem so happy here," Leslie pretended to sulk, and snickered at the look he awarded her. "Okay, I can take Tobias off your hands. The girls always seem to play well alone, so if we get Mr. Trouble out of the picture, you'll probably have some peace and quiet. And Tobias still loves riding in the car, so that might keep him happy."

"Want my twuck," Tobias demanded.

"How about a car ride instead?" Leslie suggested.

"Want my twuck," Tobias insisted.

"No car ride?" his mother coaxed with a grin. Tobias nodded but continued to reach for the truck. "Car ride, or the truck. Not both."

"You'll have more fun riding with your mother, _mi dulce,"_ Roarke informed his grandson, who looked at him in surprise, then blinked once or twice, shrugged in a way that was strongly reminiscent of Christian, and peered up at Leslie.

"Okay, I go wif Mommy," he said, suddenly docile and agreeable.

Leslie stared at Roarke, shaking her head slowly. "I really don't know how you do that, Father, but I wish you'd mix up a potion for that and let me take it home so I can use it when I need it," she said. On Roarke's laugh, she took her son's hand, left the truck under the tea table where it was out of the way, waved goodbye to Susanna and kissed the top of Karina's head, and headed out.

§ § § - January 6, 2007

Having introduced a family from New Zealand whose collective fantasy was to discover a new species of plant or animal, Roarke released a short chuckle when their next guests disembarked from the seaplane. "Mr. Arthur Lincoln, his wife Veronica, and their daughter Sylvia, age ten," he said, "from Lexington, Massachusetts. Mr. and Mrs. Lincoln are both scientists and employed at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology."

"They look very serious," Leslie observed. "Not exactly the sort of folks who usually come here. Who's got the fantasy?"

"Sylvia does," Roarke said, making her turn to him with surprise. He smiled and assured her, "Yes, Sylvia. She is an only child and has spent much more of her time around her parents' friends and associates than with children her own age; partly this is because Mr. and Mrs. Lincoln have enrolled her in a very advanced private school where none of the young lady's classmates live very close by. And they are often too busy to transport Sylvia to the homes of friends for playdates. So Sylvia, according to the letter I received from her, has created a world all her own."

"She has a problem?" Leslie asked.

Roarke smiled. "No, not in the way you are thinking. In Sylvia's eyes, it's her parents who have the problem. As scientists, they are very pragmatic people, and Sylvia says that they believe only in what is tangible. They are focused on the real world, and want very much for Sylvia to concentrate on preparing for her own future—to the extent, I am afraid, that Sylvia has very little time to call her own. In other words, she doesn't have much of a chance to simply be a child."

"Now that's just not right," Leslie said indignantly. "No matter how smart the triplets may be, Christian and I agreed long ago that they should always have the right to playtime, so we're not going to push them into a bunch of extracurricular activities unless they really want to do them."

Roarke grinned. "Very commendable," he said, "but as you're surely aware, not all parents share this attitude. Sylvia seems to be the typical overscheduled child of today; she's involved in piano and violin lessons, ballet lessons, softball practices in the warm seasons, soccer during the fall, and foreign-language courses in Spanish, German and Japanese."

"Wow," Leslie said, blinking.

"Indeed. At any rate, Sylvia's fantasy is not necessarily to free herself from all this structure. She tells me she enjoys most of these activities. No, her fantasy is not for herself, but for her parents. She wants to make them understand that imagination should play as great a role in life as tangibility. She wishes for them to acquire…a sense of the absurd." And on that amused, vaguely mysterious note, he accepted a glass of white wine from the native girl bearing a tray and raised it in toast. "My dear guests, I am Mr. Roarke, your host. Welcome to Fantasy Island!"

Leslie took in their guests' reactions: the New Zealanders cheerfully raised their drinks and beamed at him; the senior Lincolns just looked startled. Sylvia slid a peek at them and rolled her eyes, then shrugged apologetically in Roarke's direction and sucked eagerly on the straw in her glass of mixed pineapple juice and ginger ale. Roarke smiled back and winked at her, as if they had a secret just between them.

‡ ‡ ‡

The Lincolns had the first appointment with Roarke, and their stern expressions when they walked in with their daughter gave Leslie fair warning. It was shortly borne out. "I hope you realize, Mr. Roarke," said Veronica Lincoln in a scolding tone, "that Sylvia is missing two days of school because of this trip. My daughter's education is extremely important, and I don't like the fact that she's essentially skipping school because of a trip to some frivolous tropical paradise."

"Oh?" was all Roarke said, taking in the sight of the woman. She was slight, almost skinny, with a severely cropped cap of dark hair and sharp brown eyes. She sat properly in her chair, spine straight and correct against its back and arms resting on the chair arms, one leg crossed over the other. Her face could have been called elfin, if it hadn't been for her expression: remonstration mixed with a dollop of annoyance.

"Yes, and it was difficult for us to get away too," Arthur Lincoln said, pushing his rimless half-glasses back up a large aquiline nose behind which the rest of his face nearly disappeared. His light-brown eyes were close-set, and even with the glasses on, he squinted. His hair was beating a hasty retreat toward the back of his head, and stood out in tiny tufts the same color as his eyes. Like his wife, he was thin nearly to the point of emaciation, and his Adam's apple bobbed every time he swallowed, which was unnervingly frequently. Leslie found herself watching it in spite of her best intentions. Lincoln went on, "It's really a bad time of year anyway, but for some reason, our bosses insisted we go." He looked at Veronica as if she had the antidote to this hugely perplexing concept.

"Yes, they did," Veronica murmured, sounding just as bewildered as Arthur did. "I can't understand why, when we're doing some of the most important research of our careers right this moment."

"What kind of research do you do?" Roarke inquired.

"Cancer research," Veronica replied promptly. "So you see how important this is."

"Both of you?" Roarke asked, glancing at Arthur.

"For me, it's AIDS research," Arthur said, placing a slight emphasis on the word _AIDS_ as if this should have told Roarke how foolish the idea of a vacation really was. "Veronica and I are working frantically to find cures for two of mankind's worst scourges, so this is extremely significant labor. And to be taken away from it for a vacation in a place that calls itself 'Fantasy Island'…I wonder if anyone's done any background checking on you, Mr. Roarke? I mean, you can't be too careful in this day and age…and with a name like that for this little resort of yours, well, I'm sure you can see how odd it looks."

"Odd?" Roarke repeated, eyebrows popping up. "Why should it be so odd that I run a place like this?"

"Well, it might make sense if this were…oh, a children's amusement park," Veronica remarked dismissively. "But I saw far more adults here than children, and in light of that, I must tell you, Mr. Roarke, the nature of your business sounds quite fishy to me. What sort of people do you cater to, anyway, in a place called 'Fantasy Island'?" Leslie could all but hear the quotation marks snapping loudly and sternly into place as she spoke.

Roarke regarded them with great interest for a moment, then smiled indulgently, as if dealing with a pair of amusing pests. "Were you aware," he inquired, "that the idea for this vacation of yours was your daughter's?"

"Well, of course we were," Veronica said, drawing back as though affronted. "It was Sylvia's big Christmas gift this year. We wouldn't have gone ahead with it at all, no matter how much she begged us, if it hadn't been for our bosses. As Arthur said, the timing was bad, but I suppose that couldn't be helped. Why do you ask?"

"Because you seem to be laboring under a misconception," Roarke said, still smiling. "I operate this island—which I own, and of which I am sole and outright sovereign—as a vacation resort, but also as a very special business. To put it bluntly…I make dreams come to life." He settled back and waited, as if in challenge.

Arthur and Veronica looked at each other; then Arthur's eyes lit up and he brightened considerably, turning to Roarke with an expression of heartfelt approval. "Oh, I see!" he exclaimed, with enthusiasm that seemed all out of place in such a serious man. "Like the Make-a-Wish Foundation! That's wonderful, Mr. Roarke, and I commend you heartily for it."

"As do I," said Veronica, sounding just a little grudging under her own approval.

Roarke's smile widened a little; Leslie could see that this time his amusement was real. "Not exactly…although you certainly have the right idea. In my case, however, I do not restrict my, uh, wish-granting to children, or the terminally ill. Anyone, of any age, in any state of health, is welcome to request a fantasy from me, and if I approve of it, I will do my very best to grant it. And this is my livelihood, rather than a charitable organization."

"Oh." Veronica's utterance sounded startled and disappointed all at once. "Hm. How strange. So what sorts of…fantasies do you grant?"

"All sorts," Roarke said. "Think of your most secret lifelong dream, no matter how impossible, no matter how whimsical. If it's within my power, I will make it happen."

Veronica was staring at him as if a couple of leprechauns had appeared and started dancing on Roarke's shoulders. "I don't understand."

"For example?" Arthur prodded.

Roarke smiled again and gestured to his daughter. "Leslie?"

She smiled too, though privately she was sure anything she said would meet with pure confusion on Arthur's part and stern dismissal from Veronica. "We've allowed people to take part in their favorite fairy tales, or to be rich or famous or royal for a weekend, or to go back in time, or just to find lost relatives or friends."

"Uh…_huh,"_ said Arthur very slowly. Leslie swallowed back an involuntary snicker at seeing how vividly her premonitions had been proven. Arthur's face was a mask of sheer befuddlement, and Veronica was shaking her head in rejection.

"No, no, no," she said. "Now, I suppose I could see people wanting to be something they aren't for a day or two. I can see how you'd do that—setting up a sort of play on a stage, with a cast of characters working with a script, so that people actually believe they're royalty or celebrities, or acting out a role in a…fairy tale." She said the last two words as though they'd been poisoned and she didn't want to touch them. "But going back in time—of course that's simply impossible. You really shouldn't be advertising that you can do that, you know—that's fraud, pure and simple."

"I'm sure it's no more real than people playing roles in stories or pretending they're kings for a weekend," Arthur said soothingly, letting one hand hover over her shoulder without actually touching it, in a gesture Leslie supposed was meant to be placating. "I expect he and his assistant here go to a great deal of trouble to make the place look like some other day and age, and coach their stable of actors to remain in character at all times."

"Well, maybe," Veronica allowed reluctantly. "But I still find it unbelievable."

"It's needlessly frivolous," Arthur agreed, glancing at Roarke. "But, well, we promised Sylvia, after all, and our bosses did tell us we should come here. So we're here, and we'll stay the full weekend."

"But," Veronica broke in sharply, "you're not to infect our daughter with ridiculous ideas about things that don't exist. I want that made very clear, Mr. Roarke."

"Believe me," Roarke said with sham solemnity, "it could not be clearer."

The Lincolns swallowed it completely. "Good," said Veronica and stood up alongside Arthur. "Now that that's settled…suppose we get back to our cottage and take an hour's rest. We'll have lunch at exactly noon, Mr. Roarke, if you'd be so kind as to send your room service over at the proper hour."

"I'll certainly do that," Roarke agreed.

Veronica nodded. "Thank you. Come along, Sylvia."

Sylvia cleared her throat and stood her ground. "Not yet, Mother. I need to talk to Mr. Roarke and Mrs. Enstad for a minute."

Her mother stared at her in disbelief. "What could you possibly have to discuss with them, for heaven's sake? You'll throw us completely off schedule."

"It's my Christmas present. You said so yourself," Sylvia pointed out, sounding perfectly reasonable. "So please, Mother, indulge me."

Veronica released a very put-upon sigh. "Oh, all right. No more than fifteen minutes, young lady, and I want you back at the cottage resting. Is that clear?"

"As a bell, Mother," Sylvia said.

"No impertinence," Veronica warned. "We'll see you soon." She and Arthur departed, pulling the door shut behind them. The moment they were gone, Sylvia climbed into her father's vacated chair and leaned earnestly forward.

"That," she said with emphasis, "was profoundly embarrassing. I hope you'll accept my apologies, Mr. Roarke. Sometimes my parents are just insufferable."

Leslie blinked at the girl's vocabulary, impressed. She could see that Roarke was, too. "No need to apologize, Miss Lincoln," he assured the girl.

"Well, I just felt it was appropriate. Anyway, you can see how imperative it is that my fantasy be granted. They have absolutely no idea what you do here. They had to ground it in some kind of depressing reality in order to make it palatable to their ever-so-logical minds, you see? There's not a molecule in their bodies that allows for anything whimsical and enjoyable. Life is work, and work is life, to them. Or in my case, life is education, and education is life. Which is all very well and fine, and I'm not putting forth any arguments. But people have to dream, Mr. Roarke, don't you think so?"

"Oh, believe me, Miss Lincoln, I do indeed. Why, if it weren't for that very need, I would hardly be in business, now would I?"

"No, you certainly wouldn't. This is exactly what my parents need. I think they've been stuck in the same rut all their lives. I know they look irredeemable, but if anybody can alter that rigid mindset of theirs, it's you, Mr. Roarke. I have total faith in you and your abilities."

"Why, thank you, Miss Lincoln," said Roarke, grinning in friendly fashion.

"You're welcome. So…" Sylvia watched him expectantly. "How are you going to convince my parents that life isn't all toil and drudgery?"

Roarke sat up and rested his arms on the desk, leaning forward and clasping his hands in front of him. "Before I answer, Miss Lincoln, I have a few questions of my own to ask you. I realize some may seem silly, but please bear with me. First of all, your parents' adherence to reality—does it encompass merely the things they believe should pass with childhood, or does it extend to everything?"

"Everything such as what?" Sylvia asked blankly.

"Not just fairy tales and so forth, but…things like, oh, say, love," Leslie suggested.

Sylvia frowned thoughtfully; then her cheeks got a little pinker and she peered at Leslie bashfully. "Well, I really don't want to disillusion you, Mrs. Enstad, and I should issue a disclaimer that this isn't my opinion at all. But see, my parents read a magazine that came out when you and Prince Christian got married, and…they didn't believe it was love that made you stick together. They said it was all just a stunt so that Fantasy Island and Lilla Jordsö could get a lot of unnecessary publicity, _gratis."_

Leslie blinked at her, mildly shocked. "Well," she said, otherwise speechless.

Hastily Sylvia blurted, "I said it wasn't what I thought. I think you and Prince Christian really do love each other. I mean, I saw it in the way you looked at each other in the pictures. I think that when people fall in love, it can be _any_ two people. They can be exactly alike or total opposites and still be completely besotted with each other and make a perfect success out of their relationship. But my parents…" She looked at Roarke and said as if admitting to a felony, "I don't even know if they _like_ each other. I mean, I don't think they believe in love at all. I think they got married because they're both lofty scientists with very noble goals, and thought that gave them enough in common that they should get married and spawn a little carbon copy of themselves, whom they could train to be just like them." Sylvia took in their wide-eyed stares, then smirked. "Except I'm not."

Roarke chuckled, and Leslie burst out laughing. "Good for you," she said cheerfully. "So what do you think might convince your mother and father that life isn't confined only to what you can see and touch?"

Sylvia considered it. "Well, I'm not really sure," she said slowly, her index finger resting against her chin. "I guess maybe we could start with things that aren't supposed to exist. Stuff like ghosts and mermaids and centaurs." She lit up. "You've got mermaids here, haven't you, Mr. Roarke? If they saw a mermaid, it'd be a perfect start."

"Mermaids we have in abundance," Roarke assured her, smiling. "Although that may not convince them outright. In my experience, it takes several examples to change people's perceptions about ideas that have been entrenched for many years."

"That's true," Sylvia conceded. "Well, at least you can start with the mermaid. I wouldn't bother with ghosts—those are too easy to fake. If the mermaid doesn't convince them, then if you could come up with something like a unicorn or a centaur…"

"A centaur might be a better idea," Leslie offered. "As you said, Sylvia, like ghosts, unicorns would be too easy to fake."

"Yeah, you're right," Sylvia agreed, nodding. "A centaur it is." She glanced back and forth between her hosts, and a grin broke out on the face she had inherited from her mother. "This is _fun!_ And in between, if you have trouble talking a centaur into doing us a favor, you might see if you can conjure up some fairies or gnomes or elves."

"I believe we can arrange that," Roarke said. "I will let you know when each entity is ready, and from there, you will have to do the rest."

"That's no problem," Sylvia said confidently. Then she blinked, as if her brain had skipped ahead, and her grin fell off with an almost audible thump. "But suppose even a centaur doesn't convince them? Then what do we do?"

Roarke smiled. "Leave that up to me—and to chance," he said. "Sometimes the most mundane, everyday things are the deal-breakers, as the phrase has it. It may well be a concept that you never considered that finally brings about understanding that not everything is tangible."

"I guess you're right," Sylvia said. "But first we get to try the creatures, don't we? Can we start right away? If you can provide the mermaid, I think I can get my parents to come down to a beach so they can see her."

"That's easy," Leslie said. "Stay here a second." She got up and went to the foot of the stairs, calling up, "Haruko? Can you come down a minute?"

"Sure," Haruko Miyamoto's voice called back, and a few seconds later the pretty sixteen-year-old was trotting down the steps. "What's up, Miss Leslie?"

"We need to ask you a favor," Leslie said, crossing the room with Haruko behind her. "First of all, this is Sylvia Lincoln, one of our fantasizing guests this weekend. Sylvia, this is Haruko Miyamoto. She's the daughter of one of my friends, and watches our triplets each weekend. She's close friends with a mermaid."

Sylvia's eyes widened and she jumped out of her chair to shake hands with the surprised Haruko. "Honestly? You personally know a mermaid? How did you manage that?"

"Well…" Haruko hesitated, then looked at Roarke. "I don't mind explaining, Mr. Roarke, but I'm just curious as to why. Is it allowed for me to know?"

Roarke smiled. "In this case, yes. Sylvia is here with her parents this weekend, and she feels that they need to be reminded that there is a place in life for the whimsical, the absurd, and the supposedly mythical."

"Oh, I see," Haruko said and grinned. "I hope you succeed, Sylvia. Well, last spring, I was down at the beach with the triplets after a huge storm, and I heard a voice calling for help. When I went down to see who it was, there was someone buried under a ton of seaweed, and I started clearing it off her. Turned out she was a mermaid. I dragged her back to the water so she could swim back out to sea, and she was so grateful for my saving her life that we became friends. We even spent a weekend in each other's worlds, so I got to be a mermaid myself for a couple of days."

"That's stupendous!" Sylvia breathed, astounded. "Are you still friends?"

"Still friends," Haruko confirmed. "I see her at least a couple of times a month."

Sylvia took a deep breath. "I hope you and your mermaid friend won't mind doing me a big favor. My parents…they're scientists, see. Most scientists have some sense of the fantastic, you know—they're not all stuck on real-world things all the time. But not my mother and father. If it isn't supposed to exist, or if they can't see or touch it, they don't believe in it. So I'm asking for Mr. Roarke's and Mrs. Enstad's help to get them to understand that not everything in life is a physical entity. And I was hoping to start by giving Mother and Father the chance to see a mermaid."

"Aha, I get it," Haruko said. "I'm sure Akima won't mind. In fact, she'll probably be outraged that there are people who think mermaids are just stories. I'll have to call her, though. That means I'll have to go down to the beach where we usually meet. Is that okay with you, Miss Leslie? Can someone watch the triplets till I get back?"

"Oh, either Father or I will be here," Leslie promised, "and if something comes up, I'll let Mariki know that she needs to keep an eye on them for a little while. Why don't you go on ahead and talk to Akima, and let us know what happens when you get back."

"I'll be back as soon as I can," Haruko promised and rushed out the French shutters. Sylvia watched her go, eyes still the size of silver dollars.

"It's really going to happen, isn't it?" she exclaimed. "I'll get to see her mermaid friend too, won't I? I mean…secretly I've always wanted to see one, but I never told anybody."

"Then it appears you'll have a second fantasy fulfilled this weekend," Roarke said indulgently. "However, I'm sorry to point out that you have far exceeded the fifteen minutes your mother allotted you, so perhaps it would be best if you returned to your bungalow for now. When the time comes to make the trip to the beach, Leslie will come to pick you up and take you and your parents there."

"Fifteen minutes," Sylvia snorted. "The first thing I'm going to teach my parents is that schedules aren't allowed on vacations. Thanks so much, Mr. Roarke, I'm really grateful! See you later, Mrs. Enstad!" She scurried out of the house, leaving the study quiet.

Leslie grinned after her. "I don't envy that poor kid at all. When you have to be taught not to package every single second into some neat little niche, then you've got one whale of a problem."

"Indeed," Roarke said, gazing after Sylvia. "Indeed."


	2. Chapter 2

§ § § - January 6, 2007

"That's the second day he's called in sick," Christian muttered, staring at Jonathan Ichino's empty desk. "First he takes a day off, then he starts claiming illness. Something's strange here." He focused on Julianne, who was squinting critically at something on her computer screen. "Julianne, would you come here a moment?"

The young computer technician got up and came to sit beside the work arm of his desk. "Sure, Boss Prince, what can I do for you?"

"You can tell me what you know about your brother being out for three days in a row," Christian suggested. "I didn't think too much about it when he asked for Thursday off, but he's been out ever since then, and I'm beginning to wonder."

Julianne bit her lip, glanced over at the other occupants of the office and then lowered her voice, to Christian's surprise. "Um, I hate to sound like I'm imposing on you or anything, but…um…would it be possible to keep this just between us?"

"Of course," Christian agreed. "Is there something really wrong with him?"

"I guess you could say that," Julianne said slowly. "But not physically. See, he asked for Thursday off because he had something really important to do." She paused, shot another glance into the room, then lowered her voice so far that Christian had to lean over to hear her. "He told me and Jeremy and Jeremy's wife about this, see…he planned to propose to his girlfriend." Christian gawked at her, and she prompted, "You know, Ingrid, your nanny."

"I know," Christian said, still astounded. "He was going to propose?"

Julianne nodded. "He was all upbeat and excited, couldn't wait to see her and pop the question. But then a few hours later, he came back looking like he'd been flattened by a blue whale or something. He wouldn't talk to anybody at first, and when Jeremy tried, Jonathan snapped at him to leave him alone and then skulked off to his apartment. We haven't heard from him since then."

Christian slowly settled back into his chair and half-smiled, wryly. "It sounds to me as if Ingrid refused his proposal."

"That's what we figured too," Julianne said earnestly. "You don't suppose she would have talked to you or Miss Leslie about it?"

"She certainly hasn't confided in us," Christian said, chuckling and shaking his head. "She's too much in awe of us because of our royal status. But she's looked less cheerful lately and she doesn't chatter at the triplets the way she normally does when she's doing housework and they're tagging after her. I'm sure she had a good reason for turning him down, but I don't think it's really my business." He sat up then and cleared his throat, eyeing Julianne, whose expression was a little anxious. "On the other hand, Jonathan's shirking work in order to sulk _is_ my business, and I intend to do something about it. Perhaps you'd come with me. It might help if you're there."

"Sure, I'll be glad to, Boss Prince," Julianne agreed. "It's starting to get a little ridiculous anyway. The whole family's in on it now, but he won't budge, so maybe it'll take somebody who isn't related to him to snap him out of it."

"And who better than his boss?" Christian said dryly, which earned him a laugh from her. He stood up and raised his voice. "Excuse me, everyone. I'm going to be out for a little while along with Julianne. Business as usual, of course. If Leslie calls, tell her to try my mobile. We'll be back when we can."

Christian had the car, so he followed Julianne's directions through town and down the Ring Road a couple of miles or so till he reached the entrance to a large apartment complex that provided homes for many of Roarke's employees and others who worked on this end of the island. "Building C, apartment 21," Julianne said, pointing it out.

Christian parked and followed her up a flight of stairs, where she thumped on a door marked 21. "All right, Jonathan, come on, I know you're in there," Julianne called.

"Get lost," they heard a muffled, but decidedly rude, response from within.

"Does that go for me too?" Christian asked, his voice still dry, and five seconds later the door flew open, revealing a very disheveled Jonathan Ichino. He stared at Christian in startled embarrassment, but at first Christian didn't notice, so fascinated was he by Jonathan's appearance. He was clad in ancient-looking boxers and his hair lay flat and dull on his head, riddled with tufts that poked out like inquisitive gophers from burrows. He had several days' growth of beard, and his eyes were bloodshot; he exuded a faint but unmistakable aroma of beer.

"Boss Prince," Jonathan croaked, and then accidentally burped. He slapped a hand over his mouth and mumbled behind it, "Excuse me."

"You forgot to notify me that you wanted more than one day's vacation," Christian said humorously, deciding to go easy on the kid. He was clearly hurting.

"Sorry," Jonathan said and sighed. "Well, I guess you might as well come on in. Uh, sorry about the mess." Christian and Julianne followed him in, having to sidestep empty potato-chip bags and overturned beer bottles all over the floor.

"Sweet paradise," Julianne blurted, wrinkling her nose. "I'm sure glad you and I don't share an apartment anymore. If the landlord saw this, you'd be evicted in three seconds flat. What's the matter with you, anyway?"

"I've got personal problems," Jonathan said with a cautious glance at Christian, before adding pointedly to his sister, "which are none of your business."

Christian folded his arms over his chest and regarded him. "Believe me, Jonathan, you aren't the first person who's ever had a marriage proposal turned down."

Jonathan stared at him for a moment, then reddened and rounded on Julianne. "You blabbed, didn't you?"

"I asked her to," Christian said pointedly, dropping the humor. "If you hadn't been out for three days straight, perhaps I wouldn't have; but you've never done that before, and frankly, I was getting suspicious. I'm afraid it's not a very good excuse to skip work—sitting around feeling sorry for yourself and trying to drown your sorrows in beer."

Jonathan glanced around the shambles his living room had become and hunched his shoulders. "Yeah, well, I guess not…but I didn't feel like facing the world."

"It happens to many people," Christian told him. "As a matter of fact, it happened to me too. When I first proposed to Leslie, she turned me down. It took me a while to get her to come around, but I managed it. Did you try it with Ingrid?"

Jonathan looked at Julianne, who was watching with great interest, and then seemed to give up, flopping back into a worn easy chair that Christian suspected was probably a hand-me-down from his parents. "Well, as long as you're here, I guess you might as well know. The family'll probably be bugging me for details sooner or later, so you can tell 'em if you want, Julianne. The truth is, Ingrid and I've been having some problems for weeks now. She talks a lot about Lilla Jordsö, how much she misses her family there and stuff. I figured it was just nostalgia, y'know? But then she showed me something." He glanced at Julianne, then focused on Christian. "Remember the day she and I took the triplets to the beach for you last month, so you and Miss Leslie could decorate your Christmas tree?" Christian nodded, and Jonathan continued: "She showed me a letter she'd gotten from some guy she used to date in school there. I guess they had a big breakup after graduation, I dunno…she didn't really explain very much. But this guy wanted to try again with her, and she'd been thinking it over and thinking it over, and I guess she realized she still had feelings for him. At any rate, I could see she's been starting to think about her future, after you and Miss Leslie don't need her around all the time to stay with the kids."

"If you thought she was gonna break up with you, then what'd you go and propose for?" Julianne asked.

"I thought it might be enough to keep her here with me," Jonathan confessed gloomily and began to pick at a loose thread on the chair arm. "Our trouble wasn't all from this guy who was writing to her, we'd had some other issues too. Cultural differences, the language barrier a lot of the time…you know. But I always thought we were working past it and we were making a great thing together." He sighed heavily. "I guess I was wrong. She said she doesn't want to marry me. She isn't planning to stay with you forever, she said. And even what I thought we had together wasn't enough to make her change her plans and keep her here with me."

"Sometimes things just aren't meant to be," Christian said gently. "There are times when the most drastic measures in the world don't make any difference at all. Now I can understand your grieving for a lost relationship—are you saying the two of you decided to split up altogether?" Jonathan nodded. "Then give yourself time to get over her, but don't go to such extremes that you're hiding from the world, avoiding your job and attempting to obliterate the problem with beer." He knelt and picked up an empty bottle, glancing at the label and waggling it at Jonathan. "The trouble with trying to drown your sorrows is that sorrows have both lungs and gills."

Jonathan and Julianne both stared at him in surprise, then burst out laughing at the exact same moment. "That's a great way to put it!" Julianne exclaimed.

Christian grinned. "I suppose it is…in _jordiska_ it's an exhausted aphorism. Nevertheless, it's as true as it ever was. The best thing you can do is force yourself to move on. Trying to martyr yourself in the hope that Ingrid will change her mind is unhealthy for both her and you, and it certainly won't impress her. Sitting around here gorging on beer and potato chips merely gives you time to dwell on it. On the other hand, if you come back to work, you have a far better chance of distracting yourself now and then."

"I guess I get the message," Jonathan said with a reluctant grin, pushing himself to his feet. "Well, if you don't mind, I'd like to get cleaned up a little bit."

"This place can wait till you get off work," Julianne said, "much as I hate to say that. But we'll wait for you, if you can hurry up."

"I won't take half as much time as you females do," Jonathan twitted her. "We don't fuss with our hair and spend half an hour painting our faces."

"Huh," Julianne snorted. "And if we _don't_ paint our faces, the second we step outside, men wonder why we didn't put on any makeup and think we're dogs without it."

Christian raised both hands, laughing. "This isn't the place for a sibling argument. Come on, Julianne, we'll wait in the car till he's ready."

‡ ‡ ‡

"I should think you'd know by now that sitting on the beach, right under that strong sun, is very unhealthy for you," Veronica Lincoln was lecturing as Leslie let the rover coast through the town center. "It's long since been shown that too much sun causes skin cancer, and Sylvia, you know perfectly well I'm working to cure that nasty disease." She shot Leslie a look in the rearview mirror, as much as if to say that Leslie should have been listening more closely when Roarke asked what the Lincolns did for a living.

"That's why we brought high-SPF sunscreen, Mother," Sylvia said, her voice cracking with strained patience. "Besides, sunlight is the best source of Vitamin D."

Veronica shut her mouth with a snap and tightened her lips; Arthur nodded, looking pleased, but in the detached way of a tutor rather than with a parent's pride. "Very good, Sylvia," he said, "you're remembering your science."

Sylvia caught Leslie's gaze. "Basic nutritional overview, second grade," she said. Leslie nodded, but found herself wondering if the Lincolns ruined every vacation for their daughter by endlessly testing her on her school lessons.

Shortly they reached the beach Haruko had specified and parked there; Leslie led the Lincolns across the sand and toward the water. No one else was there except for Haruko herself, making a pretense of collecting shells as previously planned. Sylvia dropped a huge tote bag on the sand and tugged a towel out of the bulging contents, shaking it out and spreading it flat. "There, that looks great," she said.

"Get out the sunscreen," Arthur advised, peering critically at Leslie. "I think you should use some too, Mrs. Enstad. You have very fair skin, you know."

"I make assiduous use of sunscreen at every opportunity," Leslie assured him, smiling demurely when he blinked at her. _I know a few ten-dollar words myself, Mr. Lincoln! _ "If you don't need me for anything else, I need to get going."

"Yes, of course, thank you," Veronica said with a dismissive wave, and Sylvia paused from digging in the tote again long enough to wink at Leslie. Leslie winked back; some distance away, Haruko noticed their exchange and gave Leslie a thumbs-up. She relaxed, nodded and strolled back to the rover at leisure. She really wasn't that busy, and she wanted to see the Lincolns' reactions when Akima finally showed up.

She ended up having to loiter behind the trees, leaning on the car's right front fender, while she observed Arthur and Veronica slathering theirs and Sylvia's skin with so much sunscreen lotion that they looked as if they'd been rolling in snow. Haruko went on combing the sand, studiously oblivious, though Leslie noticed that she was gradually making her way closer and closer to the waterline. As it happened, Sylvia had deliberately spread out her towel too near the water, and the tide was coming in. Arthur and Veronica were too busy applying sunscreen to pay attention; Sylvia was watching Haruko; and only Leslie noticed when a particularly large rogue wave rolled in and suddenly washed the towel out towards the shallows. Sylvia turned at the sound, saw it go and shouted, "My towel!"

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" Veronica snapped impatiently. "Now you'll have to—" She got no further than that, for just then a golden-blonde head, sparkling in the sun, broke the waves and an arm shot high in the air, waving the sodden towel.

"Hello! Is this yours?" called a musical voice, reminiscent of Princess Nyah's. Leslie grinned broadly. _Great work, Haruko!_

"Yes, thanks!" Sylvia yelled, about to wade into the water.

"Don't you dare," Arthur exploded, grabbing her arm. "You have to remember there's always a danger of undertows."

"Oh, but there is no undertow here," Akima assured them, gliding closer in to shore with the towel. She deliberately flipped her tail above the waves and let it linger long enough for all three Lincolns to get a good look at it.

"Mother, it's a mermaid!" Sylvia shouted ecstatically. "Look, a real live mermaid!"

"Hi, Akima!" Haruko called out casually and waved.

"Hello, Haruko, my friend!" Akima called back. "As I said, Mr. Human, there is no undertow here. Your little girl is perfectly safe to walk in and take her towel. I myself can go no farther without changing my tail into legs."

"Oh, for…what utter nonsense," Veronica sputtered at last, apparently at least partly recovered from her initial flabbergasting. "Young lady, it's rude to try to fool people into thinking you're something you aren't. Now stop acting juvenile this moment and take off that silly costume, and get out of the water before those waves wash you in."

Akima gaped at her with the outrage Haruko had predicted earlier. "Costume! I am wearing no costume! How dare you make such an assumption! Have you no idea how truly insulting that is?"

"There are no such things as mermaids," Arthur announced firmly, "and you know it. So stop it this instant."

"You are so certain this is merely playacting?" Akima taunted. "Why don't you come into the water and feel for yourselves?"

"I should say not," roared Veronica, now in a fine temper. "Really, the people Mr. Roarke hires to work here and play his little roles…they seem to be some of the rudest on earth. Throw that towel in toward us, young lady, and Sylvia, you start packing the bag. We're going back to the cottage right now."

"Mother, that's not fair!" Sylvia wailed angrily. "And she isn't being rude, you are! We just got here, and this is the first time I've ever seen a mermaid, and all you can do is stand there and say stupid things about taking off her costume!" She turned her back on her parents and began to wade into the water, heedless of their shouts. "Please, Miss Mermaid, is it all right if I find out that you're real?"

"Of course it is, although I see you are a true believer and you really need no proof," Akima said kindly. "But I suppose you see it as an…experiment."

"Experience," Haruko corrected with a laugh.

"Oh, yes. All right then. But do come in," Akima invited, and Sylvia eagerly plowed through the rolling waves. Akima let herself drift into a floating position, then flipped onto her back as if to bask in the sun, exposing every inch of her body—including the topless human half. Leslie hadn't anticipated that, and thought for an instant of calling out, but kept her mouth shut in the end. She wasn't even supposed to be there, after all… She glanced at Haruko, who stood as if frozen in the act of calling out to her friend; clearly Haruko was pretty shocked herself. The senior Lincolns were gaping, so visibly stunned that they didn't yet have the ability to raise a ruckus about the situation.

Sylvia, amazingly, was too intent on other things to take any notice. She reached out and ran a fingertip along Akima's tail, all the way up to where the turquoise iridescence gave smooth, unbroken way to human skin. Then she turned to her parents and yelled indignantly, "It's real, you know. I just touched it myself. There's no costume!"

That brought her father to life. "Costume or not," shouted Arthur in a florid-faced rage, "get out of that water right this minute, Sylvia Lynette! And cover your eyes when you do it! That's absolutely disgraceful! You can be sure Mr. Roarke's going to hear about this!"

"It's perfectly natural," Akima said coldly to him. "We have nothing to be ashamed of…even if you feel you do." She whacked the water with her tail in a petulant fit. "I am sorry, little human girl, but it's clear your parents are hopeless cases."

"Will I see you again?" Sylvia asked hopefully.

"Perhaps, if you happen to come here when my friend Haruko is here and we are talking," Akima said with a shrug, bobbing in the water so that she was immersed up to her shoulders. "Until then, I wish you great luck with those people."

"I'll probably need it," Sylvia muttered. "Thank you for being willing to try." She stood in the water watching Akima swim away, and waved when the mermaid performed a graceful, arching jump out of and back into the water, like a dolphin.

"Get out of there, now!" howled Veronica. Reluctantly Sylvia began to wade back to the beach, towel dragging in the water behind her. When she got there, Veronica seized her wrist and whipped around to tow her away from the waterline; there she spied Leslie still standing beside the car. "You! I want you to take us to Mr. Roarke right now. Public nudity is a pure disgrace, and neither one of you gave us any sort of warning that you allow such a thing on this island. Really, and here I thought you had more class than that."

Leslie eyed her coolly as she towed a struggling Sylvia along with her to the car. "We have no control over what mermaids do here, Mrs. Lincoln."

"Oh, you too!" the woman sputtered, so angry she was beginning to stammer. "Of all the—I really don't—I'm sure you know we're very dis—upset. _Very_ angry! How can you dare to stand there and pretend that…that…child was actually a mermaid, never mind the fact that she flashed her br…her ch…her…_attributes_ for any and everyone to see!"

"Mother, you're being absolutely mortifying!" Sylvia yelled, giving a mighty yank to free herself from Veronica's grip. She faced her suddenly startled mother. "That mermaid said you could go in and touch and see for yourself that she was the real thing, but you're the one who wouldn't do it and just stood there practically calling her a prostitute! I wish I'd come here by myself and you two had just stayed behind in your stuffy old labs pretending there's nothing fun anywhere in the world!" With that, Sylvia stomped away up the road in the direction of town; when Veronica called after her and started to pursue, the girl broke into a swift run and was out of sight in seconds.

"But…" Veronica began, then fizzled into silence, gaping after the vanished girl.

"Would you still like me to take you to Mr. Roarke?" Leslie inquired crisply.

Veronica rounded on her. "You'd better believe it," she barked. "Hurry, Arthur, we need to lodge a formal complaint with Mr. Roarke."

"Right, right," huffed Arthur, chugging up to the roadside with the overloaded tote bag. "To the main house right now, Mrs. Enstad. We have a very big bone to pick with Mr. Roarke, and we don't intend to procrastinate."

"Whatever you say, Mr. Lincoln," Leslie replied, voice very polite. Inside she was simmering. _Idiots! We tried to tell you about this place, and your daughter tried to make you see…but you are so_ blind! _I hope Father pulls you down a couple hundred pegs or so!_ She thumped into the front seat, put the car in gear and made a wide, rather fast turn right there in the road, eliciting yowls of surprise from the Lincolns, but ignoring them.

She caught up with Sylvia on the edge of the town square and stopped the car long enough to coax the girl to get into the vacant front seat beside her. Sylvia slid her parents a nasty look and finally consented. "Maybe it's a good thing," she said, radiating disgust. "I can tell Mr. Roarke what _really_ happened, instead of his getting only the biased version."


	3. Chapter 3

§ § § - January 6, 2007

"Fate give us rest," Christian said and broke down into helpless laughter when he heard the story. "It sounds to me as if you have your work cut out for you." He capitulated to Tobias' persistent request for another helping of papaya and some more slices of cheese. "I just hope you don't have to hand out a refund, Mr. Roarke."

"The weekend is only just really under way," Roarke said with mild surprise. "Let's not write the ending before we've even neared it."

"My apologies," Christian said, chuckling. "So what did they say?"

"Mr. and Mrs. Lincoln complained first about Akima's rudeness, and then about what they called her 'wanton and deliberate nudity'," Leslie told him. "Sylvia was much more interested in seeing for herself, and trying to prove to her parents, that Akima's tail was the real thing, and that was all she focused on. I'm not sure she even noticed that Akima was, well, topless. She certainly didn't seem to care. As a matter of fact, when she told her side of it, she reminded her parents very pointedly that all mermaids were depicted as topless—sometimes, but not always, using their hair to hide certain parts of them—and only Walt Disney had the gall to sanitize them by putting bikini tops on them."

Christian laughed again. "Disney was a family man all the way," he said. "But I suspect that Sylvia's already long since outgrown Disney movies, if I have my understanding of your description of her correct."

"She does seem much older than her years at times, and often far wiser," Roarke agreed with a smile. "Fortunately, not so old, however, that she doesn't recognize the value of whimsy and fantasy in life."

"So what did you tell the parents?" Christian asked.

"I merely placated them," Roarke said serenely. "I reminded them that this is Fantasy Island, emphasis on the 'fantasy'…and that perhaps they were missing the point their daughter hoped to make to them. But in the meantime I apologized for Akima's infraction, despite the caveat Leslie gave earlier that we have no control over mermaids' actions while in our waters."

"That was inspired, my Rose," Christian observed. "It's too bad those two were too pragmatic to pay much attention."

Leslie met her father's amused gaze. "Straight from the mouth of a formerly pragmatic prince. I think we've finally totally converted him, Father."

"So it would seem," Roarke remarked.

Christian snorted. "I decided some time ago that I'd better just give up being shocked by everything you two bring up in the course of a normal lunch conversation. Otherwise I'd wear out my sense of amazement. As you said, Mr. Roarke, this is Fantasy Island, with a definite emphasis on the 'fantasy' part of it, and I decided it was the wiser move to reconcile myself to that and learn to accept all these seemingly ridiculous stories as part of that element of fantasy. After all, it's the very foundation of your business."

"So it is." Roarke laughed. "Welcome to the inner circle, Christian. How are things progressing at your office?"

Christian paused a moment and then laughed. "Oh yes, that," he said. "I think you'll like this story." He told Roarke and Leslie about the hour or so he had spent coaxing Jonathan out of his blue funk and back to work in the wake of his breakup with Ingrid.

"So that's why Ingrid's been so quiet and subdued lately!" Leslie said, wide-eyed. "So they asked for the day off to break up?"

Christian laughed again. "I'm sure that wasn't their original intention, but that seems to have been the way it turned out. Jonathan said they got together to talk in depth about their relationship and its future, and that when he proposed, it seemed to bring everything to a head, which is when it all fell apart. They couldn't seem to meet halfway, and I guess they decided splitting up was their only choice."

"That's too bad," Leslie murmured.

"Mmm," Christian agreed, "but I don't think Ingrid at least will be upset for too long. Jonathan mentioned a letter she received from some old boyfriend back in Lilla Jordsö, so when the day comes that she leaves our employ, she'll probably have someone to go back to. Although I'm sure the triplets will be very unhappy."

"We might not need her when they start kindergarten," Leslie mused slowly. "Of course, that's still a good couple of years away, so there's all sorts of time for everybody to decide what to do. Well, Susanna, do you want some more papaya?"

After lunch, Roarke took careful note of the time, had a long look out the French shutters, and then nodded. "I believe the time is right," he said. "Leslie, will you please call the Lincolns' bungalow and ask them to come here to the main house."

Leslie was secretly relieved when Sylvia picked up the phone, which made it easier to deliver her message. Sylvia promised they would all be there shortly, but "shortly" turned into more than twenty minutes; and Arthur and Veronica Lincoln were not exactly thrilled to be there. Their faces tightened when they saw Roarke and Leslie. "I suppose you want to convince us that some other mythological thing actually exists, and have someone showing far too many body parts in the role-playing," Arthur said sourly.

Roarke only smiled and said, "As a matter of fact, Mr. Lincoln, I thought you might appreciate something a little more mundane. We offer horseback riding here, and the stables are not very far away." Leslie grinned when Sylvia lit up at the mention of horseback riding; there weren't many little girls who didn't pass through a horse-infatuation period. She expected Karina and Susanna would go through it themselves one day.

"Horseback riding?" said Veronica, as if Roarke had suggested they go cliff diving.

Sylvia instantly rounded on her mother. "Please," she begged. "You know I've wanted to learn to ride a horse for years. And you better not start saying anything stupid about how you just know Mr. Roarke's horses are wild, rude beasts that throw off every rider who sets foot in a stirrup. You've embarrassed me enough in front of him and Mrs. Enstad this weekend, both of you."

"Young lady, is that any way to talk to your parents?" Arthur demanded.

Sylvia blinked at him, as if startled. "I just want to have a good time here, and you're acting like that's against the law."

"We never said any such thing," Veronica said stiffly, sounding hurt. "We just never knew you wanted to learn to ride."

"I've said for years that I—" Sylvia cut herself off and rolled her eyes. "What's the use? Can we just go, please, Mr. Roarke? And do they really have to come with me?"

"I'm afraid it's the rule that parents must accompany their minor children," Roarke said, with only a trace of regret; in fact, Leslie saw him wink discreetly at Sylvia. "But I'm sure everyone will enjoy this little outing. Would you all come with me?"

They trooped out to the rover in silence and spent the ride to the stables that way as well, which made everyone uncomfortable, except probably Roarke. Sylvia came back to life when she saw a few horses being led towards stalls, or cantering leisurely around the lush green grass, and gasped. "This'll be so exciting!"

Her parents were clearly dubious, but to Leslie's surprise, they allowed themselves to be talked into boarding the two most docile horses available. Roarke pointed out a nearby trail and suggested they take it as far as it would go, advising that it would lead them to the town square. "Then you may simply turn around and come back."

"I'm so glad you suggested this, Mr. Roarke," Sylvia exclaimed. "Oh, can you do something for me?" She dug into a pocket and extracted a small camera. "Take a picture of me on the horse, please? This might be the only time I ever get to ride."

"I'd be glad to," Roarke agreed, and took two or three shots of Sylvia posing atop the horse before handing the camera back. "Enjoy your ride." He smiled at all three Lincolns, then said, "Excuse us. Leslie?"

"You have something planned for them," she said low, watching them depart at a slow walk that had the senior Lincolns rolling uncomfortably in their saddles.

Roarke smiled. "Indeed," he said, "and I for one am looking forward to hearing about it." He winked at her, and she giggled.

When they returned, there was a message on the answering machine, which turned out to be from Paloma Esperanza. _"Hi, I just wanted to ask Leslie a question—where do I find your husband's computer shop? My laptop seems to have picked up a bug from some stupid e-mail message, and I was hoping he could take a look at it. Thanks."_

"I'll go and talk to her," Leslie offered. "I haven't seen her since she got here anyway."

Roarke agreed, and she left the house and headed for the bungalows. Paloma replied to her knock almost immediately, and lit up at sight of her. "Hello, Leslie, thanks for coming over. This darn thing…" She hefted up the closed laptop. "It's usually really reliable, but I guess it felt as much like taking a vacation as I did."

Leslie laughed. "Maybe it's entitled. Have you visited Damian and Mr. Casey yet?"

"I tried calling, but I guess they weren't home; nobody picked up. Well, that's all right, I'll be here for a good month. I'll catch up with them." She stepped outside and fell in beside Leslie as they strolled toward town. "How's the weekend going?"

"Busy as ever," Leslie said with a smile. "Tell me again, when's season four of _King's Castle_ coming out?" Making small talk in this manner, they soon emerged into the town square and crossed quickly over to Enstad Computer Services. Christian and all six of his employees were there, even Jonathan, whose hair still looked a little damp as if from a very recent washing. He looked up and waved at her as she came in.

"Boss Prince, you've got company," he said.

Christian looked up from the interior of a computer tower and brightened. "Hello, my Rose," he said and stood up to kiss her. "And what can I do for you, Ms. Esperanza?"

Paloma blinked at him. "You must be the first person I've met in decades who doesn't evince total shock at seeing me," she remarked.

"Because I'm too famous for my own liking, and I know what it feels like," Christian said with a grin, and she laughed. "Are you here for a fantasy, or just a vacation?"

"I'm taking some much-needed time off," Paloma said, lifting her laptop for him to see, "and apparently so's this thing. I think it picked up some kind of virus from an e-mail that I thought was perfectly safe. Could you take a look at it for me?"

"Of course," Christian agreed and took the machine from her. "Was the message from someone you trusted?"

Paloma nodded. "A longtime friend of mine. It must have looked innocuous to her, but I'm still surprised she sent it. Thanks for taking the time to check it out."

"That's my business," Christian said, smiling. "I'll take a look as soon as I've finished this project here." He gestured at the tower on the work arm of his desk.

Paloma chuckled and said, "Don't feel as if you have to hurry; I could probably stand a long break from surfing online anyway. And besides, Leslie reminded me that I owe Howie and Damian a visit. Do you happen to know if they ever get into town?"

"If they do, they don't come in here," Christian observed, turning to his wife. "Do you ever see them?"

Leslie shrugged. "Not outside the Enclave. Maybe they do all their errands in the middle of the night so the fewest possible people see them out and about."

Christian and Paloma both laughed at that, and she grinned as Paloma observed, "You know, that sounds a lot like something they might try. Which seems ridiculous, considering that—" She happened to glance out the window, and cut herself off at that moment. "Well, speak of the devil. And here I never thought they'd do it."

Christian and Leslie turned to look as well, and Leslie grinned, for approaching the shop was Damian Mullawney, pushing Carson Howland Casey in his wheelchair. Casey had a computer tower balanced on his lap. Paloma went to the door and said teasingly, "We really have to stop meeting like this."

"Well, if it isn't Paloma!" Damian exclaimed and laughed. "Why didn't you tell us you were here? We had no clue!"

"I tried calling you guys, but nobody answered," she told him. "I guess that's because you've been here all this time. Come on in." She held the door open for Damian to wheel Casey inside the office, and Christian greeted them in the same nonchalant way he had with Paloma, making the two men exchange glances.

"We've got a fried computer," Casey said without further comment on Christian's welcome, patting the tower on its top. "Now I'm told you're a virtual miracle worker with these things, but I'm prepared to buy a whole new system if this one's beyond help. So if you don't mind, could you check this thing out and let me know?"

"I'll be glad to," Christian said, chuckling, "but you may have to wait a while. Ms. Esperanza here just requested that I look at her laptop, and I've been working on this one over here for the better part of the afternoon."

"Just whenever you can get to it, Your Highness," Damian spoke up, stepping around the wheelchair and lifting the tower out of Casey's lap. "Where can I put it?"

"Over there," Christian said, waving at a table that held towers and other components awaiting service. Each had a Post-It note attached with a name written on it. "Darius, do you have any more Post-Its? I think I've run out over here."

"I've got a whole drawer full of them," said Darius Langford with a chuckle, rising and pulling a drawer open. He scooped out a handful of small, square yellow notepads and brought them to Christian's desk, where he dropped them. He nodded at the newcomers. "It's nice to meet you."

"Damian Mullawney," Damian said immediately, extending a hand. Darius grinned at him and shook, then repeated the gesture with Casey before turning to Paloma. He paused to look at her with impressed surprise, then slowly extended a hand.

"Darius Langford," he offered.

"Paloma Esperanza," she replied, grasping and shaking. But Leslie could see that the two were mutually interested, and when she caught Christian's surprised glance, she knew he'd seen it too. Paloma went on, "So you work here?"

"Just since last March," Darius said. "I'd just gotten out of the Air Force and was hoping I could find some way to stay on this island, and Christian here obliged me with a job. Helped me find an apartment too, and in a couple months I'll be eligible for citizenship." He nodded at her surprised look. "Haven't decided on that yet, though."

"You'd be crazy not to stay, young man," said Carson Howland Casey in his characteristically blunt manner. "If it means giving up US citizenship, then for crying out loud, don't hesitate. Roarke's operation pays so well that he doesn't even take taxes out of the paychecks here."

Paloma looked astonished. "He doesn't?"

Christian grinned and said, "No, and that's what makes my accountant's job so easy." He gestured at Jonathan, who snorted, making them laugh. "I have to worry about taxes in four other countries, thanks to the various branches of my business, so being able to exclude Fantasy Island from the tax tangle is a relief. Mr. Roarke's able to pay all his own employees a decent living wage and can provide civil services such as police and fire departments, plus a hospital, without taxing the population here because his business is so incredibly lucrative. Between all the vacationers, plus the fantasies he grants…well, he can afford to forgo taxes. There may be people who are just getting by, but no one is truly poor here."

"What, does he employ the entire island?" Darius wanted to know.

"Not quite," Leslie said through a chuckle. "The high-school staff and faculty are actually paid in part by Air Force allocations because the base on Coral Island sends its teenagers to high school here. And the folks living and working in the fishing village are self-employed. They make up a pretty heavy percentage of the total population here, so it's not like Father's supporting everyone on the island. Plus, anybody who has businesses here, like Christian, pays his or her employees from that income, rather than anything Father gives them. On the other hand, Father does employ about two hundred islanders all told, so he does have a fair-sized layout—but not as enormous as that."

"So how do I get in on this?" Paloma inquired, and they all laughed again.

"I could tell you more this evening over dinner, if you're interested," Darius offered in a low voice while Christian wrote Casey's and Damian's surnames on a Post-It to stick onto their tower. Paloma regarded him curiously, then smiled.

"I think I'd like that," she said. "Thanks. What time should we meet?"

Before Darius could reply, there was a loud clattering in the square, and every head in the room turned to the windows. Out front were three horses, each bearing a rider, two of whom were in what appeared to be a state of sheer flailing madness and the third exhibiting wide-eyed, dazed delight. Leslie alone recognized the Lincolns, gasped and burst through the door. "Are you folks all right?"

"There was a _thing_ in the woods!" cried Veronica Lincoln, grasping her thigh. "I can't imagine what on earth it was supposed to be…"

"What'd it look like?" Leslie asked, aware of everyone from Christian's office, including his employees, crowding out onto the covered sidewalk in front of the building to gape and listen. Apparently oblivious, Veronica waved her hands madly and stammered something before falling silent and rubbing her hand in circles on her thigh.

Arthur took over, though he looked only slightly less hysterical than his wife. "It was some huge monster," he said breathlessly, eyes grotesquely magnified behind his glasses. "I don't even know what it's called…it was some sort of…_fusion_ of _Homo sapiens_ and _Equus ferus caballus."_ His face changed. "If this is another one of yours and Roarke's…tricks…"

_Half man, half horse—a centaur!_ Leslie thought, and with difficulty managed to hold back a laugh. "Oh, I assure you, it's no trick, Mr. Lincoln."

"How could it be anything _but_ a trick? You know those things don't exist—"

"Unless there's some…some aspiring Frankenstein hoping to create something that didn't exist before," Veronica babbled frantically.

"You two," Sylvia said, rolling her eyes. "You must be the last two people on earth who wouldn't know a centaur if he came up and bit you on the leg."

"But that's what it did!" wailed Veronica, closing her eyes and spreading out her hand over her leg. Leslie blinked, feeling a laugh bubbling rapidly up within her and reminding herself that this was the last thing the Lincolns would welcome.

"And you still didn't know it was a centaur," Sylvia said scornfully. "Holy cow."

By now the small crowd behind Leslie was mumbling amongst themselves; she heard Jonathan's and Julianne's muted voices somewhere in the mix, agreeing sagely that this must be yet another of Mr. Roarke's fantasies. Christian sidled up beside her and whispered into her ear, "Are these the people you were talking about at lunch?"

"Uh-huh," she murmured back. "The skeptics."

"Maybe they'll be slightly less skeptical now that they've seen this centaur," he said low, a grin spreading over his face. "And been bitten by one, it appears." Leslie lost some of her hard-won control and a giggle boiled out before she slapped her hand over her mouth. Christian just grinned wider.

"Those people must be nuts," said Carson Howland Casey from somewhere nearby, making both Christian and Leslie dam up their laughter with hands over their mouths. "We all know centaurs don't exist—except here on this crazy island."

They could see that Sylvia heard him, and she beamed at him, pumping a fist high in the air while her parents moaned over the alleged centaur bite Veronica had received. "You got that right!" the girl proclaimed happily.

Her voice made Arthur Lincoln look up, and as luck would have it, his gaze collided with Leslie's. She read abrupt fury in his, and her burgeoning mirth died almost instantly, just before he leaned over in his saddle, nearly falling off the horse, and roared in a hoarse voice, "We're going to sue you, and you can tell your father that for me!"

§ § § - January 7, 2007

"Are you still mooning over that man's announcement, my Rose?" Christian asked at breakfast the next morning, taking in Leslie's troubled expression. "Surely you don't think he'll actually go through with it."

She looked up and said with a sigh, "It's not so much the threat itself, but how it was made. Namely, in front of a town square full of people, including about ten very avid witnesses in front of your office."

Roarke had crossed the veranda while she was speaking, and took his usual chair with an amused glint in his dark eyes. "If those witnesses were as avid as you say, then according to the story you two told me at last night's meal, they could have no possible grounds for a lawsuit. Consider it, Leslie. It cannot happen."

"What do you mean?" Leslie asked.

"They would be likely to insist upon neutral ground for their lawsuit, since I own this island and am the law here. And tell me, what judge beyond this island would believe their reason for suing me? A centaur bite? After all, centaurs are imaginary creatures."

Christian snickered, and Leslie relaxed in her chair and laughed. "You know, you're right, Father. Thanks for pointing that out to me. But they're going to be a couple of very upset people, I don't doubt."

"Of that I am well aware, my child. But don't worry; the weekend isn't over yet." He perused the dishes on the table. "Why don't we have some breakfast and think about it later, when we are fortified."


	4. Chapter 4

§ § § - January 7, 2007

They had plenty of "later" in which to think about it, for it was close to lunchtime before they heard from the Lincolns. They strode in trying to look dignified, although Veronica was limping slightly, Roarke noticed. "What may I do for you?" he inquired warmly.

Without bothering with any of the niceties, Arthur Lincoln planted his palms flat on Roarke's desktop and said, "I have come to the conclusion, Mr. Roarke, that you are solely responsible for every incident, accident and mishap that occurs on this island, even if it appears to have been directly caused by…well, something else." He turned to his wife. "Roll up your shorts leg." Veronica did so without a word, showing a neat oval of pink tooth dents in her skin. "You're very lucky it wasn't worse than this, Mr. Roarke. After we returned the horses, we took my wife to the doctor, who concluded that the skin isn't broken and she should heal without any trouble at all."

"What caused the bite?" Roarke asked curiously, knowing full well what they would tell him, but interested in their viewpoint.

"Some…creature," Arthur said, giving his head a couple of quick shakes as if trying to jar something loose in his brain. "I don't know what kind of crazy experiments you're performing on this island, but I can tell you, you've created monsters. This…thing looked like nothing so much as a fusion of _Homo sapiens_ and _Equus_—"

"…_ferus caballus,"_ Roarke finished for him, leaving him standing there with his upper teeth clamped down on his lower lip to form the sound of F. He raised his eyebrows with genuine surprise. "Surely you've heard of centaurs?"

Arthur and Veronica both stared at him, and for the first time she spoke. "Should we have? After all, it's not possible to fuse a man and a horse that way."

Roarke chuckled. "There are many tales of centaurs throughout the ages. Apparently, in all your studies, you somehow neglected the fantastical."

"Why should we waste our time learning anything about creatures and objects that don't exist and aren't remotely possible?" Arthur wanted to know. "Mr. Roarke, my point here is that you are responsible for that thing that bit my wife. Fortunately for you, we've changed our minds about suing, since the injury isn't as bad as we thought. We decided we would drop by and let you know our decision."

"I sincerely appreciate your generous gesture," said Roarke, without the slightest irony. "But if you don't mind, Mr. and Mrs. Lincoln…please, sit down. I'd like to speak with you for a few moments." Looking puzzled, their guests seated themselves, and Roarke rested his forearms on the desktop, regarding them thoughtfully. "What did your daughter say about that centaur bite?"

"She had quite a time at our expense," Veronica noted through a sigh. "She said we wouldn't know a centaur if it bit us." Her voice became plaintive. "Can we really help it if she was right?"

Roarke smiled briefly. "Should it not tell you something, that Sylvia knows about the creatures that seem to baffle the two of you? It should at the very least suggest to you that she is learning about more than merely the tangible, physical world."

"Well, she does read a lot…" Arthur said uncertainly.

"And well she should," Roarke said. "Whether they be real or not, even mythological creatures and other apparent figments of the imagination have a place in this world. To be able to dream up such seemingly impossible creatures as centaurs and mermaids allows the imagination to take its owner places that might otherwise remain unexplored. You see, if a child's imagination is allowed to take free flight, the child comes to understand that it is permissible to consider concepts that don't seem feasible. While it may seem frivolous, it can in fact be very useful in the real world, even in the very tangible world in which you two toil every day. Are you not aware of how many discoveries have been no more than happy accidents? There are any number of substances we take for granted in modern life that might never have come about if it were not for those accidents, or for the imaginations of their discoverers, who let their minds roam freely beyond the physical to consider things that didn't seem possible."

"Such as what sort of 'accidents'?" Veronica asked, looking horrified.

"Nylon and artificial sweetener are two things that come to mind. And even penicillin was discovered quite by accident." That got their attention, Roarke saw; they exchanged startled glances. "And tell me, where would modern medicine be without penicillin?"

"You have a point there," Arthur admitted in a small, soft voice. "You know, now that you mention it, I remember studying the discovery of the stuff in college…and over the years I forgot all about it."

Veronica remained a stubborn holdout. "Mr. Roarke, there's no room nowadays for that sort of 'accident'. We work in closed labs, carefully sealed so that no outside contaminant has a chance to get in and ruin our work. Otherwise, how are we to know if any one substance truly works on the organisms we're combating?"

"There is certainly nothing wrong with that," Roarke assured her. "But it eliminates the possibility that something no one would otherwise ever have considered might be the factor that makes or breaks the experiment." He smiled, an impish, conspiratorial little smile. "I have sometimes secretly wondered whether that may be one reason it's been so difficult for modern medicine and science to beat back certain ailments that have been with us for so many centuries—particularly cancer and the common cold. Because laboratories are often so carefully sealed against random elements, and because of the extremely careful and heavily thought-out process of choosing the agents that seem to have promise in beating these diseases, only certain substances are ever considered for testing—and no room is allowed for serendipity."

Arthur and Veronica sat in dumbfounded silence for several minutes, slowly digesting this heretical concept; Roarke patiently waited them out. It was so quiet that he heard the thrashing of something in the vegetation behind the house long before the Lincolns, lost in thought, became aware of it; and a few seconds later, one of his New Zealand guests burst in through the French shutters, clutching a very odd-looking flower in one fist and waving it triumphantly back and forth. "Mr. Roarke, Mr. Roarke—you did it! Our fantasy is fulfilled! Look at this!" He brandished the flower under the startled Lincolns' noses, and they instinctively drew back in their seats, gawking at him as if heralding a madman. "The extract from the petals of this flower is going to cure the common cold!"

"Impossible!" Veronica blared out before Roarke could speak. "Have you even tested it in a lab? Have you had a subject with a cold who could serve as a guinea pig? Has there been time for side effects? Do you have any proof of this?"

The New Zealander straightened to his full height and stared down his nose at her; she glared back, nothing daunted. "Madam, I assure you, I am a scientist, and a very accomplished one at that. Just because I work in Invercargill and you somewhere in America, does not invalidate my testing or my conclusions. And I can promise you I've tested this thing as thoroughly as I possibly can across this weekend."

"But you know side effects can sometimes take weeks or even years to become apparent," Arthur put in, sounding more reasonable than his excitable wife. "You've worked with this for just two days, and I know you haven't been here that long—I remember seeing you on the plane. I, uh…would you mind if I took a look at that?"

The New Zealander backed up a step or two when Arthur arose, and turned to Roarke with a somewhat outraged look on his face. "Who are these people?"

Roarke smiled. "May I introduce Arthur and Veronica Lincoln, from Massachusetts in the United States. Mr. and Mrs. Lincoln, meet Mr. Branton Hartiswoode, of Invercargill, New Zealand. Like the two of you, he is a scientist, and had a fantasy."

"What was yours?" Arthur asked, interest piqued, while Veronica stared on with a distrustful look on her face.

"I wanted to find a substance that would finally provide a cure for something that's defeated worldwide research for decades," Hartiswoode explained. "And I tell you, this flower is it." Roarke smiled again, watching as Arthur leaned over to peer more closely at it. The bloom was quite large, about six inches across, and bore a multitude of distinctive sky-blue petals with broad pink stripes running lengthwise in the middle of each petal. The center of the blossom was a peculiar, and very memorable, glittering silver. "You see the center here? This is where the curative properties are housed. The nectar from this will set the human race free of common colds for now and evermore."

"Oh?" Arthur peered at the flower. "Where'd you find this?"

"Evidently it grows only on this island," said Hartiswoode. "I've found only two specimens so far. If I could just have the seeds from this…"

"But you just said it grows nowhere but here," Veronica said. "How can you hope to take home any seeds and get it to grow in New Zealand? We might as well try planting it in a petri dish in our labs in Boston."

"The Lincolns do have a valid point, Mr. Hartiswoode," Roarke pointed out gently. "Less so about the scarcity and location of the flower and its proliferation, but about the testing period. I recall that your daughter Caryll had quite a nasty cold when you first arrived yesterday morning. And now you say the cold is gone?"

"It certainly was last night, and Caryll was just fine this morning," Hartiswoode said, sounding defensive. "She felt well enough to take a lie-down at the beach, actually."

"Have you seen her since then?" Roarke asked.

Hartiswoode, about to reply, snapped his mouth shut when the inner-foyer door opened and Leslie came in, supporting a teenage girl whose skin was so red even Roarke was alarmed. The girl clearly wasn't able to walk without Leslie's help. "Caryll!" Hartiswoode cried. "Are you all right?"

The girl's head shot up and she gaped at him with plaintive eyes. "Godda thunburn onna beat'th," she slurred thickly. "Tho bad I can'even walk. My tongue'th thwowen wike a bawoon, an'it tathe'th like my mouth'th fuwwa fwowerth. I think ith that thing you got there, Dad. Thith burn'th gonna make me thick."

"What?" Hartiswoode blurted in horror.

"She says she got a sunburn on the beach, as you can see, and her tongue's swollen, very badly," Leslie translated. "And she says her mouth tastes like it's full of flowers."

"Side effects," Veronica announced with self-satisfaction. "There, you see?"

Hartiswoode glared at her. "Mrs. Lincoln," he said with precise enunciation, "no one on earth likes a person who takes such pleasure in saying 'I told you so'."

"Father, do we have anything that can help with Caryll's burn?" Leslie asked. "It's not her fault nor her father's that this happened…I think this falls under 'mitigating circumstances'. And it really is the worst sunburn I've ever seen."

"Obviously the drawbacks outweigh the benefits," Arthur commented, not without sympathy. "Shame."

"I have something that will ease the burn greatly," Roarke said. "If you'll all excuse me for just one moment…" He arose and hurried out of the room toward the kitchen.

"Well," Veronica said, zeroing in on Leslie. "My husband and I were just here to tell Mr. Roarke we decided not to sue, since my bite didn't break the skin."

"I see," said Leslie, carefully hiding her immense relief. "Well, we appreciate that."

"What bit you?" Hartiswoode asked.

Arthur and Veronica looked at each other; then Arthur cleared his throat and leaned in Hartiswoode's direction. "Um…tell me something, have you seen anything…uh, strange on this island since you got here?"

"Well, this flower for one," Hartiswoode said, eyeing him oddly.

"Not so much flora as fauna," Arthur said, flicking a glance in Leslie's direction.

Hartiswoode shrugged. "To tell you the truth, we weren't really looking at much beyond the plant life. Why do you ask?"

"I tell you, that thing you're holding isn't the only peculiar life form on this island. That bite you see on my wife's leg comes from a centaur."

Leslie watched while Hartiswoode peered at him in squint-eyed curiosity, as if trying to assess Arthur for sanity; then he made a perplexed face and looked away. "If you say so."

"Thentaurth aren'd reaw," said Caryll incredulously.

"That's what we thought, too," Veronica said, "but no lie, the thing bit me. The evidence is right here." She pointed emphatically to the teeth marks.

Roarke came back just in time to see her do this. "I have something to ease any pain you may be feeling from that bite, Mrs. Lincoln," he offered.

"No thank you, the doctor at the island hospital gave me something," Veronica said, a little disdainful. She watched dubiously while Roarke handed Caryll a small vial and told her to drink the whole thing straight down in one gulp. While Caryll followed his instructions, Roarke resumed his seat behind the desk.

Before he could speak, though, Hartiswoode said, "Mr. Roarke, that bite on her leg…they say a centaur gave it to her. Looks like a plain old human bite to me, though."

Roarke regarded him thoughtfully, then smiled a little. "If a flower that cures colds, albeit with side effects, is possible here, then why not a centaur, Mr. Hartiswoode?"

Hartiswoode blinked, then considered this. "You know, perhaps you're right."

Caryll let out a deep sigh then and smiled gratefully at Roarke. "Thank goodness, I feel much better now. My tongue's back to normal and that flowery taste is gone. Thank you so much, Mr. Roarke. What about the sunburn?"

"That will fade gradually throughout the day," Roarke assured her. "What of the cold you had when you first arrived here yesterday?"

"That's gone," Caryll said, looking a little surprised. "I mean, it didn't come back or anything. It's just that…well, I'm not sure the side effects are worth it."

Hartiswoode frowned. "I won't give up," he muttered. "There must be a way to isolate the substance in this plant that cures colds. Mr. Roarke, might you have a lab somewhere I could borrow for the day?"

"You aren't really going to let him work on that," Veronica exclaimed. "He'll have to test it over and over again, and one weekend is hardly enough time to give that flower a fair trial. It's going to be years before he can market his cure, if ever."

"But I have something to work with," Hartiswoode fired back indignantly. "I must say, I'm glad I don't work with you. If you belittle all your colleagues' efforts as you're doing mine, I feel very sorry indeed for them." He gestured at Caryll, who smiled sheepishly at Roarke and Leslie before following him out.

Arthur glanced at Veronica, sighed, and shoved his hands into his pockets. "Is this what you meant by serendipity?" he wanted to know.

Leslie glanced at her father, who winked surreptitiously at her and then addressed Arthur. "Let me put it this way. Would you ever have thought of trying to find a cure for any ailment in a flower?"

When Arthur hesitated, Veronica walked right into the opening by snapping, "Certainly not! Especially not one that looked as—as unearthly as that one!"

"Indeed. And there you have it," Roarke said simply.

"Look for possibilities in unexpected places," Leslie put in. "That's all there is to it."

Veronica made a scoffing noise, but Arthur looked very thoughtful. "Hmm," he mumbled, almost inaudibly. "Well…all right then, thank you, Mr. Roarke…you've given me some food for thought. Come on, Veronica, we shouldn't leave Sylvia too long." He nudged his wife, who was now gawking at him as though he'd betrayed her.

"Arthur, have you completely lost your mind?" she demanded, even as she rose and followed him out the door. "You know perfectly well that random factors…" The door closed on the rest of her words, to Leslie's relief.

"You might have one convert," she remarked, "but I think Veronica Lincoln's gonna be an especially tough nut to crack."

Roarke just smiled. "Time will tell. Now suppose you give Christian a call and invite him for lunch; I believe Mariki will have it ready now."

After the noon meal Christian accompanied Leslie to Paloma Esperanza's bungalow to let the actress know that he'd taken care of the bug in her computer. She was delighted to hear it, and came along with them on the walk to his office to pick up the laptop. "You managed it so fast!" Paloma remarked to Christian, impressed. "I didn't think I'd see it again for at least a week."

Christian grinned. "That's one of my specialties," he said. "I generally leave the hardware repairs to my specialists, and I stick with the software and programming aspects, although I can repair and build computers as well."

"You sound like a computer genius," Paloma said, and he shrugged, looking pleased. She winked at Leslie. "I've envied you for a while now, to tell you the truth, Leslie. But I might not have to anymore."

"How come?" Leslie asked curiously.

"I think I've found someone," Paloma confided, eyes bright. "Of course it's early days yet, but it looks promising, and…" Her voice trailed off and she stopped short to stare; Leslie and Christian followed her gaze and saw Sylvia Lincoln and her father chasing after what looked like small green rats running around on two legs. "What's going on over there?"

"And in the town square too!" Christian said, staring at Leslie now.

"Well, geez, heck if I know," Leslie said, wondering why he seemed to expect her to know everything the second she saw it. Her voice, raised slightly with a touch of impatience lacing it, caught Sylvia's attention and she sprinted over to them.

"How did you get those little elves to come visit us, Mrs. Enstad?" she cried delightedly. "They're so cute! I even got to talk to them, but they're a little leery of my father, and they won't even look at my mother. If we even mention her they put their noses in the air. But I think they're adorable!"

Leslie grinned. "Elves, huh? If they hear you telling them you think they're adorable, they'll come over and bite you. Literally."

"I think we've had more than enough bites around here for a weekend," said Veronica Lincoln's sour voice from behind them. "I suggest, Mrs. Enstad, that you call off those trained hamsters, or whatever little animals you're disguising there, and stop perpetuating this ridiculous charade you and Roarke are trying so hard to pull off."

"There she is!" squealed a tiny, high-pitched voice a few feet away.

"Time to make ourselves scarce," announced another one that reminded Leslie of the Munchkins from _The Wizard of Oz_, and she looked around just in time to see the elves vanish. They fled so fast that she wasn't entirely sure she knew where they'd gone.

"And you can turn off the tape player, or whatever you've recorded those little voices on, too," Veronica added stridently.

"They're not _hamsters_, Mother!" Sylvia yelled, exasperated. "Why can't you stop being so pragmatic and so…so…_pedantic_, just once in your life!"

"I can't believe I saw them," Paloma said in wonder. "That little girl's right, they were cute! Do you think they'll come back?"

"Not with my mother around," Sylvia griped, looking thoroughly disgusted. "If we could get away from her, maybe they'll agree to come back. But you have to believe in them."

"I hope you and Roarke don't decide to conjure up Santa Claus or Ichabod Crane," Veronica snipped at Leslie. "Really, the two of you should advertise a fantasyland for children, not a tropical paradise for adults."

Christian gave the woman a sharp look and pointed out with an edge to his voice, "I may be repeating something someone else has told you, but I think it could use saying again. This island, madam, is called Fantasy Island for a reason. If you have a problem with it, feel free to cut short your vacation and go home."

"Well," Veronica began, then squinted at him and suddenly recognized him. "Huh, you're that prince, aren't you, the one from that tiny little Scandinavian country. I'm not even going to bother trying to pronounce it. If you're going to keep up the charade with Roarke's daughter here to continue to hold your country in the spotlight, like you did when you two got married—"

"Mother, shut _up,"_ groaned Sylvia, turning brilliant crimson.

Christian's voice grated. "I married Leslie because I love her. If you knew anything about me at all, you'd remember that I shun publicity, rather than seek it out. Love and no more than that, lady—that's why I married her. I'll say it again: L-O-V-E. Love. Does that concept register with you, or do you have as little belief in that as in any other item you can't actually wrap your hands around?"

Veronica stared at him; Leslie smiled wryly to herself, noticing that Paloma wore almost the same startled, faintly intimidated expression that Veronica did. After a moment the latter woman spluttered, "Oh, for Pete's sake…of course I know love exists. But even love has to follow some rules. Now take a look here." She gestured through the windows of Christian's nearby office, where they could see Damian Mullawney loitering in front of the receptionist's desk talking to Darius Langford. "I overheard Miss Esperanza here talking to you about thinking she's found someone. Of course it must be Mr. Mullawney there; after all, they're both actors, and they know each other so well, having worked together on an old television show. So they'll have plenty of common ground to build a relationship on. You've probably got at least one intra-office romance as well—again, common ground in an interest in computers. And my husband and I share the same interest in science and in eradicating terrible diseases, so of course we agreed that we were compatible, and therefore we were married. You see?"

Christian and Leslie looked at each other in astonishment; then Leslie peered at Paloma. "She's right, you did mention thinking you've found someone…so is it Damian?"

Paloma had been eyeing the oblivious Veronica with a very peculiar look indeed; now she snorted, then broke into laughter and shook her head. "Good grief, no. Damian and I've known each other forever. Way too long. We just never got that spark, and it was the same way between me and Mason Chen. No, actually, I had dinner with Darius last evening, and he's such a gentleman, and so charming. He's fascinating too. He was full of funny stories about his years in the Air Force. And he was telling me how much fun it is working for you, Your Highness. He says you must have the best rapport with your employees of any boss anywhere on earth."

Christian chuckled. "I think the 'fun' was unintentional, but I'm glad he enjoys his job so much. I think of him as a friend, and he's a damned hard worker too. Very dedicated. So you two have an interest in each other?"

Paloma nodded, then speared Veronica with a glare. "What you don't seem to understand is that it takes more than having something significant in common to get a relationship off the ground. But since you apparently got married solely because you and your husband are both in the same professional field, I'm sure you wouldn't understand that." She glanced apologetically at Christian and Leslie. "Excuse me, Leslie and Your Highness." They nodded, and she strode toward the office.

"Impossible," Veronica said finally, gaping after her for a long moment before turning to Christian and Leslie. "They have nothing in common."

"Just because they don't work in the same profession doesn't mean they have nothing in common," Christian said. "You certainly have a strange view of what makes a relationship work. Maybe you'd better take a good, hard look at your own marriage. Well, my Rose, are you coming with me? I need to get Ms. Esperanza's laptop for her."

"Sure," said Leslie, and started to follow him; but Veronica stopped her and she ended up waving him on ahead. "I'll catch up, my love." To Veronica she said, "Did you want something?"

"What holds you two together, anyway?" Veronica wanted to know, now looking genuinely curious rather than critical. "I mean, look at you—the two of you have nothing at all in common. He's a prince and he's used to the best of everything, and probably takes being wealthy and renowned for granted. And you—you're a commoner, an orphaned middle-class all-American kid who benefited from the unusual charity of a man known all over the world for the cloud of mystery that surrounds him. How could you and a prince find any way to connect?"

Leslie regarded her for a long twenty seconds or so, before frowning slightly. "It's a very long story, Mrs. Lincoln. But one thing I can tell you is that Christian was always looking for an escape from his relentless notoriety. He was born famous, and it drives him nuts most of the time. Ideally he wanted someone who'd never heard of him, but failing that, he hoped for someone who wasn't hung up on the fact of his royal status. And yes, I was an orphaned, middle-class American girl, but Father took me in and raised me, fulfilling my mother's fantasy the way he'd promised. He deals with all sorts of people, and I got used to meeting everybody over the years—from blue-collar workers to Wall Street billionaires, maids and janitors to presidents and monarchs. I very quickly stopped being impressed by fabulous wealth and social standing, and I think Christian sensed it."

"But you still have nothing in common," Veronica protested.

"Don't we?" Leslie asked with a tiny smile. "You're not looking deep enough, Mrs. Lincoln. Sure, the prince was looking for a commoner, even if it wasn't necessarily the other way around. But that by itself would never have been enough to sustain a relationship between us. I'll never forget our first date. Christian took me out to dinner at the pond restaurant a few days after we met, and we started asking some of the usual mundane questions about each other…and then somehow the conversation just took off. The more we talked, the more we found out we had in common. No, not the prince versus the commoner. It was the inner stuff: our ideas about raising kids, likes and dislikes, hobbies and pet peeves, all sorts of things. We talked so much the restaurant started closing around us." She grinned, then focused on Veronica. "Surface things don't really mean that much in the end. As the old saying goes, it's what's inside that counts. Not only did Christian and I see eye to eye on all kinds of stuff, I discovered that he's a genuinely nice person, down-to-earth and friendly and personable. He came across as a regular human being, not some snobby, stuffy royal who couldn't be bothered with the lowly subject." She shrugged. "We connected on so many levels, it stopped mattering that he was born royal and I wasn't. He was willing to give up being a prince in order to be my husband, and I would probably have moved to his home country with him, except he beat me to the punch by offering to move here."

"Good Lord," mumbled Veronica, clearly overwhelmed.

Leslie smiled again. "That's what love is, Mrs. Lincoln. At least, that's one example of what love is. It helps if there's a mutual physical attraction too; otherwise what you've got is one heck of a close friend, which is nothing to sneeze at either. Long story short, love's a lot more than having a profession in common." She waited, but when Veronica seemed speechless, she smiled a little once more and offered, "Excuse me." Veronica nodded dumbly, and Leslie left her standing in the square.


	5. Chapter 5

§ § § - January 7, 2007

She walked into her husband's office just in time to see Darius accept payment from Paloma for the services Christian had rendered and ring it up for the receipt, while Christian perused the projects waiting to be done on the table set up for holding them. His employees greeted her when the bell on the door jangled and they saw her; she waved back and came to stand beside Christian. "Having trouble deciding?"

He jolted slightly and then aimed a sheepish smile at her. "Actually, I'm afraid I was thinking. Maybe more than I should be."

"What about?" she asked.

"Ingrid, primarily, and then by extension, Darius. I'm going to have to have a talk with Ingrid, try to find out what her long-term plans are." Leslie nodded, and he went on, "And then there's Darius. He's said he wants to remain here, but now that he and one of your favorite actors there have developed some sort of understanding…"

"You might be borrowing trouble, my love," Leslie offered softly. "You mentioned that Jonathan said something about Ingrid getting a letter from a boyfriend in Lilla Jordsö. That is to say, a boyfriend, as opposed to a fiancé. And besides, how do you know Ingrid is planning to leave within the year? As for Darius…" She chuckled. "Well, if experience is any guide, I'd bet Paloma moves here—if they get that far."

Christian snorted quietly to himself. "You have good points, my Rose. Maybe I'm just looking too far ahead. I know you said something about Ingrid staying till the triplets start school, but do you think we'll really need her that long? I mean…it might be possible to let her go once they're toilet-trained and have learned to dress themselves."

"I don't know. Maybe the best thing you can do is have that talk with her," Leslie said, and he nodded. "And like I said…if Darius and Paloma get as far as deciding who moves where, that's for then. For now, they've barely met and they've had exactly one date. That's a pretty weak foundation to build your worries on."

"Hmm…all right then, I'll leave Darius' possible relationship to develop, or not, as it will, and I'll talk with Ingrid tonight. I know I'm probably being premature about this, but I have to admit, it's been so convenient having Ingrid around. Laundress, housekeeper, cook, nanny, babysitter…all wrapped in one."

"And the kids love her, which is a big plus too. Well, just wait till you talk to her before you decide to panic." Leslie grinned at him and popped a kiss onto his cheek. "See you at suppertime. Lots to talk about."

‡ ‡ ‡

Sylvia Lincoln was staring at her father in their bungalow. "Dad, are you serious?"

Arthur nodded heavily. "I know it's going to hurt, but I…well, I've come to some conclusions this weekend, especially after a couple of talks with Mr. Roarke. She's pretty stubborn, maybe too much so. When she gets back, you make an excuse of some sort and go anywhere you feel like, so I can—"

"I don't think so," Sylvia said, folding her arms over her chest. "I'm staying. I'm part of this family too, you know, so I have a perfect right to know."

Just then Veronica came in, looking a little faraway, moving in a slow, meandering sort of gait. Arthur and Sylvia watched her enter, and Arthur nodded. "Good, you're here. Uh, Veronica, sit down, please, I want to talk to you."

Veronica blinked and focused on him, then nodded. "Of course, Arthur." She took a chair without further argument, surprising her husband and daughter for a moment before Arthur took a deep breath.

"I've been thinking, Veronica…and, well, I think it's best if you and I get a divorce," he said, with little fanfare.

Veronica's face promptly became the color of glue, and she gawked at him. For a moment Sylvia thought her mother's eyes would roll back in her head and she'd faint; but Veronica sucked in a loud, deep breath and slapped a hand over her chest. "A divorce?"

"And I want to live with Dad," Sylvia announced.

"B-but why?" Veronica bleated.

"For one thing, Sylvia's creatures. That centaur looked about as real to me as any virus I've ever studied in the lab, and the bite it gave you was certainly real enough. And those elves…they weren't trained hamsters. They were just very small people—small, but still unmistakably human. And I have a funny feeling that the mermaid Sylvia tried to talk us into seeing was real, too. Now, Veronica…" He held up a hand when her mouth gaped open as if she were going to speak. "Mr. Roarke and Mrs. Enstad themselves informed us that this place is called Fantasy Island for a very good reason, and we saw some of those reasons this weekend. The clincher was that New Zealander who found the flower that has cold-curing properties. Side effects or no, it still clearly cured his daughter's cold. If Mr. Roarke allows it, he might be able to take some of the seeds home with him and cultivate them in a controlled environment, and isolate the curative properties while eliminating the ones that cause all those grotesque side effects." Arthur paused, then added, "Controlled, but not _too_ controlled. Which is something else I've come to realize. That's why our supervisors wanted so badly for us to come here. They were hoping we'd see that we've become too narrow-minded and regimented in our work. It's as Mr. Roarke said: we refuse to allow for the serendipity factor. If we consider some ideas that sound preposterous on their face, we never know but that we might stumble on the very substance that produces the results we want. The point is that we make room for those random factors. And I'm going to begin adjusting my work as soon as we return to the labs."

"But…we always had the same noble goals in mind," Veronica said faintly, still looking shocked. "That was why we got together."

Arthur sighed. "I've been considering this for longer than you know. It's occurred to me that I barely know you, Veronica. We got together based solely on our work interests and our hopes of finding cures for two of mankind's worst scourges. All we've ever talked about to each other is our work and the progress we've made in it. That, and Sylvia."

"If you hardly know each other," Sylvia said, obviously unable to resist the chance to chip in her two cents, "how in the world did you ever manage to have me?"

Arthur smiled sadly and rested a hand atop her head. "People who don't even know each other's names sometimes end up having a baby," he said. "But your mother and I based our marriage on much too little. The only reason I know her birthdate and birthplace, and her middle name, is that I saw them on her birth certificate when we applied for our marriage license. I'm not sure she knows the same information about me."

"But I do," Veronica protested, her voice a thin, plaintive plea. "You were born on October 27, and your middle name is Jameson."

This met with astonished silence for several moments, and all three Lincolns stared at each other. Then Arthur admitted, "I wouldn't have thought you cared."

"Maybe not," said Veronica, her voice still soft. "But I spoke with Mrs. Enstad a little while ago in front of her husband's office. She explained how she and the prince really met and fell in love." She peered up at Arthur with a wistful glint in her eyes. "They got to know each other. They spent time together, and they talked about everything, she said. It simply astounded me to hear that they saw eye-to-eye on so much, considering their very different stations in life. I never would have thought that a marriage between a prince and a middle-class commoner could work, but it obviously has. I…" She paused, swallowed visibly and broke her gaze. "I need to apologize to both Mrs. Enstad and the prince. I actually believed it was all a publicity stunt for his country and Fantasy Island. I've been a real fool, it seems."

Arthur chuckled. "I have too. But I think I figured it out a little differently from you. I've been seeing a lot of happy couples here. I even watched a few last night when we ate at the restaurant. They were all in conversation—happy, animated conversation. You could tell by the expressions on their faces, their laughter, the way some of them held hands. And I found myself thinking that it would be nice to have that in my life too."

"C-couldn't we try to work on that ourselves?" Veronica begged. Sylvia was stunned to see tears gleaming in her eyes. "I'm beginning to understand now that there are a lot of good things missing from our lives, just because they're intangible things that I thought had no meaning. If we…well, if we turn out to be incompatible after all, then you may have a divorce, Arthur, but before we go that far, I'd like to see if we have enough in common to stay together, other than our work and our goals."

Arthur nodded, smiling. "I'd like that too. In fact, I was hoping you might still have enough invested in this partnership of ours to give it a try."

Veronica bolted out of her chair, and she and Arthur hugged each other tightly, for the first time Sylvia could ever remember. After a couple of minutes they both turned to look at their daughter, and Veronica said, "I just noticed…you've started calling your father 'Dad'. Where did that come from?"

Sylvia shrugged and pivoted one foot on its toe, grinning. "Aw, well, we were having so much fun with the elves this morning, and he was laughing and having a great time, and I thought, _gee, he looks more like a Dad than a Father now._ So I started calling him Dad, and he thought it was great. In fact, he even hugged me."

Veronica laughed. "I'm still not altogether certain about all those mythical creatures we've been seeing…except maybe that centaur, considering the bite I got." Arthur and Sylvia laughed too. "But I'm a little more willing to allow for such things now. Maybe not to the point that I expect to meet them on the street or work with one of them at the lab, but if they were the real thing and I saw them with my own unenhanced vision, then I suppose even strange beings like those have their place in this world."

"Well, gosh, Mom, that's all I ever asked," Sylvia said with a smirk, and her parents laughed again and gathered her into their embrace.

§ § § - January 8, 2007

Roarke and Leslie shook hands with Arthur and Veronica and watched them stride for the plane dock, not quite hand-in-hand, but looking as if they might just end up that way after all. Then Roarke regarded Sylvia and inquired, "Was your fantasy a success, Miss Lincoln?"

"Maybe a qualified success," Sylvia said thoughtfully, casting a glance at her parents over her shoulder. "They're both willing to believe in things that they can't clutch in their own two little hands now, and I guess you and His Highness taught Mom something about love, Mrs. Enstad." Leslie blinked at that, and Sylvia grinned at her. "Dad was about to ask Mom for a divorce, but then she told us what she'd found out, and they're going to start getting to really know each other."

"Good for them," said Leslie.

"They might still get divorced," Sylvia admitted candidly, "but at least if they do, they'll know enough about each other to decide if it's better for them to stay married or to split up. But I think I still want to live with my father if they do. Mom's pretty tough, she's still got some skeptic in her. But who knows—maybe while they're getting acquainted, it'll get hammered out of her eventually."

Roarke and Leslie joined in her laughter and shook hands with her, wishing her good luck and watching her run after her parents. They took the time to say goodbye to the Hartiswoode family as well, and Leslie noticed that Branton Hartiswoode carried a baby-food jar with about half an inch of clear liquid inside it. "What's that?" she asked.

The New Zealand scientist smiled. "My family probably thinks I'm crazy to insist on going back today, after I spent all of yesterday in the lab isolating elements from that flower Mr. Roarke let me find. Heavens, that must be the best-equipped lab I've ever been in, Mr. Roarke. There were even lab mice to experiment on." Roarke smiled broadly while the others laughed; and Hartiswoode continued, "At any rate, I had the chance to separate the basic components of whatever formula cures the common cold, and the contents of this jar are—I hope—the isolate that will bring about the cure without any of the side effects Caryll was so cruelly subject to yesterday." He squeezed his daughter's shoulder, and she smiled. "It's promising to see that her cold still hasn't returned."

"So it is," Roarke agreed and smiled. "I wish you luck and success, Mr. Hartiswoode, and I hope all of you have a pleasant trip home."

"Don't be surprised if Arthur and Veronica Lincoln ask you about that formula," said Leslie as they began to turn away.

Hartiswoode stopped short. "Those obnoxious American scientists? I hope not!"

"Give them a chance," Roarke urged. "They have also come to some realizations this weekend, and you may well find them much more receptive to your ideas."

Hartiswoode made a noise, half intrigued, half disbelieving, then shrugged. "Perhaps. Well, again, thank you, Mr. Roarke. It's been a wonderful weekend." His family concurred, and they shook hands all around before the Hartiswoodes headed for the plane.

While the seaplane's engine sputtered into life behind them, Roarke turned to Leslie as they headed back for the waiting car. "You mentioned at supper yesterday that Christian planned to speak with Ingrid. What came of it?"

"Well, it seems that Christian was panicking a little too soon. Ingrid's going on 25, but she plans to stick around as long as we say we want her, boyfriend or not. As a matter of fact, she's invited the boyfriend to next month's Valentine's party that we're having for the guests here. I guess she felt they needed to spend some time actually in each other's presence before they made any decisions about renewing their relationship."

"Yes, that's quite helpful," said Roarke, deadpan, and she shot him a look before chuckling. "I presume you and Christian won't be waiting that long to celebrate your sixth anniversary next week."

"Believe me, we'll do something special," Leslie said with a grin. "But I have to admit, I'm looking forward to the Valentine party. Maybe we can make some other couples as happy as Christian and I are." That made Roarke smile, and he watched her with quiet pride as she settled into the car. Truth be told, he too was looking forward to the party; no less than Mephistopheles had once accused him of being an encourageable romantic, and he fully intended to live up to that.

* * *

_Now you know what the next story will be about! Some characters you've met before will return, and some new ones will come for a visit, and some previously unmet folks related to other past visitors to the island. I hope to have at least part of it up in time for Valentine's Day. See you then!_


End file.
